


Incendiaries: A kind-of, sort-of epilogue to AWOL

by orange_panic_archive



Category: Avatar: Legend of Korra
Genre: F/M, Fluff and Smut, Romance, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-26
Updated: 2020-08-26
Packaged: 2021-03-06 19:01:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,184
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26113837
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orange_panic_archive/pseuds/orange_panic_archive
Summary: General Iroh drops Asami off after a date. Pure adorable Irohsami smut and I’m not sorry. Not one bit.This is the last piece of a previous story that absolutely did not fit with the tone (ahem, rating) of the other work. But it totally happened. You know it did.
Relationships: Iroh II/Asami Sato
Comments: 7
Kudos: 48





	1. Evening

**Author's Note:**

> References the previous story in small ways, but it’s not necessary to have read it. Because really, there is very little plot here…

General Iroh stood with Asami just inside her door, his back to the summer evening. She had yet to turn on a light, and in the dim hallway his red United Forces uniform looked almost black. Asami was still unused to seeing him back in formal attire, but she had to admit that it in no way detracted from the appeal. Tall and lean, with strong features, dark hair, and golden eyes, Iroh had always been a handsome man. And now… 

“Well,” said Iroh, and gave Asami a brief nod, “goodnight then.” 

Sensing that he wasn’t going to take the initiative, Asami stepped lightly forward and kissed him. He immediately responded, leaning down to her, and she felt his hand go to the small of her back. His lips were very warm, his mouth almost hot on hers in the way she’d come to associate with firebenders. Okay, she thought, so she had a type. Who didn’t?

This kiss was nothing like the one they had shared at the South Pole a few weeks ago. It was slow and sweet and warm, and though passionate it had none of the desperation of their earlier embrace. She ran her hand up his arm, fingering the thick scarlet fabric of his jacket as they broke apart. Then she moved her hand to the front of the coat and started on the buttons.

“Hey,” he said, his voice a rough, “we don’t have to—” She stood on her toes and stopped his mouth with another kiss. 

“Shh,” murmured Asami once they’d parted. “I want to.” She continued unbuttoning his coat, then slipped her hands inside. He wore only a dark t-shirt underneath his uniform; the weather had been warm lately. They kissed again as she slid her hands over his chest, helping him out of the coat. Iroh rolled his shoulders and his scarlet jacket tumbled to the floor. 

He nodded slightly and reached one arm behind him. The front door closed with a soft click. He ran his other thumb along her jaw, tipping her chin up towards him. The look in his eyes was suddenly so intense, so full of obvious need, that she almost blushed. Asami’s stomach churned in excitement. They had had a few heavy sessions before, in the dark corners outside restaurants and once pressed up against her satomobile, but Iroh had always pulled back before things got too heated. Whatever had been stopping him from going further, it seemed like she’d finally broken through.

Iroh leaned down, sliding the hand on her chin up into her hair. The kiss was more heated this time, and Asami felt his tongue tentatively begin to explore her mouth. She could taste the wine they’d shared at dinner. She moved her hands to his biceps, pushing up his sleeves to touch warm bare flesh. Asami traced the smooth and puckered skin of the large, round burn scar on his left arm, a nasty reminder of their first battle together the year before, and thought about the irony of falling completely head over heels for the man who had probably done the most to foil her father’s plans. Not to mention kissing that man in the hallway of what was still, legally, Hiroshi Sato’s house. The corners of her mouth turned up in a wry smile.

“What’s so funny,” Iroh mumbled. 

“Life,” she said.

He pushed her gently up against the wall of the hallway. The plaster felt cool against her back, a stark contrast to the warmth of his body. One hand pressed lightly on her shoulder; the other began undoing the clasps on the front of her top. Iroh moved from her mouth and started down, kissing her chin, the line of her jaw, her neck, the hollow of her throat. He finished unfastening her top, exposing the thin white tank underneath, and slowly slid it from her shoulders. It hit the ground with a soft plop. Then he stopped.

“I see I’m not the only one with battle scars,” he said, pulling back. His bronze eyes met hers as he traced a round area of smooth skin just below the left side of her neck. His fingertips were rough with callouses from firebending. 

“Broken collarbone,” she breathed. She didn’t want him to stop and was having trouble with complete sentences. “Three years ago. Got cut off, broke the skin. Every serious motorbiker breaks their collarbone though. Badge of honor.” 

Iroh bowed down and kissed the scar. “Mmm hmm,” he said. “Very brave.” Then, without warning, he bent his knees, dropped his hands to her bottom and lifted. He picked her up with one smooth motion, pressing her to his hips. Asami let out a little shriek of surprise and reflexively wrapped her legs around him. Iroh laughed as she moved her hands to his back to steady herself. 

“I thought you _liked_ flying,” he said. She could feel the taut muscles straining through his shirt; though he made carrying her seem easy, Asami was fit and knew she was no featherweight. She found his mouth again, his breath hot on her face. Iroh started to carry her further into the house. “Where?” he whispered between kisses.

“Couch. Straight. Closest,” Asami panted. She was staying at the downtown townhouse, and at this rate there was no way that they would make it up the narrow stairs to a bedroom. As they stumbled their way forward, Asami kicked off the heels she’d been wearing. She heard them clatter to the tile. 

The entry hallway gave way to a large front room with vaulted ceilings and thick, rose-colored carpeting. A grand stone fireplace fixed into the opposite wall faced a long red-and-white striped couch set between two carved oak end tables. It wasn’t exactly Asami’s taste, but she hadn’t had the heart to redecorate her father’s various estates yet.

Iroh stumbled into the back of the couch and swore softly, almost dropping her. She’d forgotten that, between the darkness and most of her body blocking him, he probably couldn’t see very well. He recovered his balance, then lifted her slightly over the back of the sofa and set her down on the soft cushions. He himself walked around, kicking off his own shoes as he did so. 

Iroh was mostly to the couch when he stopped cold. He looked around the room, taking it in, and Asami saw one side of his mouth tick up in a half smile. 

“Now what’s so funny?” Asami asked.

“Nothing,” Iroh said. He gave a quick, quiet laugh and shook his head. “Life.” Asami had no idea what he found so amusing about her living room, unless it was the idea of a woman of 19 living in a house decorated like the parlor of a particularly stuffy maiden aunt.

Whatever it was, it didn’t distract him for long. Iroh glanced again at the enormous fireplace, then extended one hand and flicked his wrist. A short burst of fire shot from the tips of his fingers into the stack of logs set in the iron grate. The fireplace hadn’t been used in a long time and the tinder-dry wood exploded into flame. Iroh winced.

“Sorry,” he said, “that was supposed to be more romantic than incendiary.” Asami grinned. Who used words like that? It was one of the many things she liked about him. 

“What if I like incendiary?” she said archy. Iroh smiled and came to her. He climbed onto the couch, knees under him, and gently pushed her down. 

“Then I might be able to help,” he said, and started kissing her again. One hand slipped under her tank top and lifted it, and Iroh moved his mouth to her belly as he slowly peeled it off. He ran his lips up her midsection to the tops of her breasts, gently kissing every new inch of skin that he revealed. All of his old shyness seemed to be gone, replaced with the calm confidence of a man who knows exactly what he is doing and how to go about it. Asami found herself grateful that she’d worn her nice teal bra; she’d not necessarily expected anything to happen, but had been going by the old adage that it was best to be prepared. 

In the meantime, her hands had drifted down to find Iroh’s belt. She undid the buckle, then began fumbling with the buttons on his uniform slacks. She brushed her hand lightly over the hardness there and he grunted. Buttons undone, Asami gripped him through the shorts beneath and squeezed gently. _Wow, no disappointments there_ , she thought, then felt her face grow hot. She was so unused to being the forward one in relationships, it surprised her to find out how much she wanted this. Wanted him. She started rubbing him through the fabric and Iroh groaned into her chest. However hesitant he had been over the past few weeks, now that they were here he seemed just as excited as she was.

Asami raised her knees and used her legs to shimmy his pants the rest of the way down. Iroh kicked them off, then reversed his kisses back down her torso to her waist. She ran her hands through his thick, dark hair as he untied her pants and slid them over her hips. His hands found the edges of her panties—also teal—and traced them around her hips before pulling them down. Then Iroh continued his kisses, slow and gentle, first on her lower belly, then on her hips, then on the inside of her thighs. When Asami finally felt his tongue on her center she was so keyed up she bit her lip to keep from shouting. 

She’d had lovers before, of course, but their times together had mostly been bumbling, sweaty affairs. Instead, Iroh moved over her like molten rock down a mountain—slow, scorching, and utterly relentless. She was reminded of the time she’d seen him firebending in the forest near the Southern Ocean, leaning into each form with an intensity that she hadn’t thought possible. Each movement of his hands, his tongue, was controlled, precise, powerful. It was delicious and utterly maddening. Every time she’d roll her hips, urging him on, he’d instead go even slower. It was simultaneously the best and worst feeling that Asami could possibly imagine. 

Finally, she couldn’t take it. She gripped Iroh’s shoulders between her knees and, with a twist, knocked them both off the couch. They landed in a heap; Iroh mostly on his back, Asami straddling his chest. The look of complete shock on his face almost made her laugh. She’d found surprising him to be its own particular form of pleasure.

“My turn,” she gasped, and leaned forward. She ran both hands over the hard muscles of his chest as she pushed his shirt up over his head. Then she slid down his body. With one hand she removed his shorts; the other she used to take him into her mouth. He grew, if possible, even harder. Asami began moving her mouth up and down, her tongue finding the little ridge just below the head. Iroh sucked in a breath and she felt him tense.

She went as slowly as she could, but it wasn’t long before she knew he was close. She made a little humming noise with her mouth and Iroh actually twitched beneath her, his breathing becoming ragged. He tasted slightly salty. She changed tacks and moved her mouth to his lower abdomen, then his navel, then to the small scar on his ribcage where she knew a sword had cut him years ago. Then she ran her tongue lightly along another long-healed cut that ran up his right side. Gently, deliberately, Asami made her way up his muscled torso, kissing every little line and scar. There were many, she thought; too many. She’d gotten as far as the center of his chest before he tangled one hand in her hair and roughly guided her to his lips. 

Asami kissed him hard, then rocked back and lowered herself onto him. Her eyes went wide as he filled her. She hadn’t realized how _good_ that would feel, finally, having him in her, the sudden conclusion of weeks of tension and anticipation. Iroh plunged both hands into her hair and pulled her down, his mouth hot against hers. Asami felt the fire building in her center again as he began to move with her. She pulled away from his lips and sat back, rocking to a steady rhythm that Iroh matched stroke for delicious stroke. He reached out to touch between her legs. This time his hand was hot, a white flame against her very nerve endings, and _oh spirits was he firebending into his fingers?_ Asami closed her eyes and shuddered.

Then she felt a hand on her chest and Iroh flipped her, pinning her down on the soft carpet. It was all one smooth, fluid movement; he never stopped his rhythm. With one hand he pulled down the strap of her bra, the only scrap of clothing remaining between the two of them, and cupped her breast. His thumb worked short circles over her stiff nipple as his hips ground her steadily into the carpet. She bit her lip and breathed in sharply. It felt like every inch of her was on fire.

Iroh shifted slightly to slide his hand down her side and under her. Then he lifted, never stopping, adjusting their angle. It was enough. Pleasure ripped through Asami like white-hot lightning and she gritted her teeth against a scream. Her fingers raked into Iroh’s back as he kept moving, drawing it out. She cried out as she lost control, bucking under him, trembling, melting. A few seconds later she heard him gasp. With a final thrust he collapsed next to her on the floor. 

Asami lay on her back, panting, stunned. Everything tingled and burned. She’d never experienced anything even remotely close to what Iroh had done to her. 

_He might not show it much,_ she thought, recalling a paper-thin voice from what felt like a million years ago, _but inside he’s all fire. He doesn’t do things by half, Miss Sato. Not ever._

Apparently, this was true.

After a minute Asami rolled on to her side and looked at her companion. Iroh lay propped up on one elbow, breathing hard, his usually neat dark hair flopped across his forehead in an untidy mop. His golden eyes sparkled as he flashed her a broad smile. It lit up his whole face, making him seem younger, almost boyish. Asami thought, not for the first time, that she’d like to see him smile like that more often. 

“You once told me,” Iroh said between breaths, “that I was the kind of man who knew how dangerous it was to make assumptions. So, I’m going to ask.” He looked pointedly down at himself, then over at Asami, taking in her naked curves in the soft firelight. “May I presume,” he said, “that the date went well?”

Asami laughed. She leaned over and pushed his hair out of his eyes, then kissed him deeply. 

“Yes,” she said, “I think it did.”


	2. Nightfall

“Asami?” Iroh said, leaning over the back of the couch. “Have you seen—” He glanced back, but the room was empty. She must have gone to get dressed then.

Iroh returned to his search. He had spent the better part of the last two hours with Asami on the floor in front of the fire, her head on his chest, both of them nodding off in the warm comfort of each other's arms. At some point she’d even produced a checked flannel blanket from the large wicker box in one corner of the room. Even so, Iroh didn’t want to overstay his welcome. He’d been very careful not to push Asami on anything, either physically or emotionally, in hopes of proving to her that he wasn’t “that kind of guy.” No matter how good she had felt snuggled up against him, a graceful exit now to give her space would be polite. 

Iroh had found most of his clothes easily and had started to dress. But for whatever reason he couldn’t find the t-shirt that he’d been wearing under his uniform jacket. If push came to shove he could button his coat and go without it, but he was hesitant to leave his things all over Asami’s house the very first time they’d slept together. He found it sloppy and disrespectful.

Iroh dropped to his hands and knees on the thick carpet to look under the couch. He smiled to himself as he felt the slight sting of rug burns against his pants, then shivered a little at the memory of what they’d been doing when he’d probably gotten them.  _ Worth it, _ he thought.

The space below the couch was dim in the flickering firelight, but clearly empty. They’d been right here, so unless Asami had thrown it somewhere… Yet almost as soon as she had removed his shirt she had started doing something with her mouth that had commanded his full attention. The shirt could be on the moon for all he’d been keeping track. 

Iroh heard a quiet step behind him. “Hey,” he said, turning his head, “have you—” He stopped. Asami stood in the entrance to the living room, one hand resting lightly on the door frame. Her jet black hair was draped over her shoulder in a thick, loose braid. She was wearing a dark t-shirt several sizes too big for her, and that appeared to be all. The edges of it just brushed the tops of her long, pale thighs. 

“Looking for something?” she asked. 

Iroh just stared. 

“I don’t know what your morning looks like,” Asami said, “but it’s just me here and I thought, maybe, you might want to stay over? There’s plenty of space.” She bit her lower lip softly. “Or not.”

Iroh got up off the floor and walked over to her. The tips of her modest breasts—Iroh thought of them privately, and not without excitement, as “hand-sized”—were clearly visible against the soft fabric. He reached out and gently put a hand on her hip, confirming his suspicion that she wore nothing at all beneath the shirt. He swallowed hard. Asami gave him a slow smile. Her green eyes seemed huge in the dim light. She had washed off her makeup, and Iroh could see the delicate spray of freckles across the bridge of her nose. He had the brief thought that he was probably the only person who ever saw them. Something about that was so unbelievably sexy that for a split second he wanted to take her right there, against the door, and manners be damned. He was mildly embarrassed to feel himself growing hard again.

“I think I could be convinced,” Iroh said in a harsh whisper. Even though they had both been naked only a few minutes ago, in that moment he’d blow off a meeting with President Raiko himself if it meant that he could learn more about what was underneath that shirt. 

“Good,” Asami said. She trailed one finger slowly up his bare torso, starting just above his belt. The part of Iroh’s brain that was still capable of coherent thought found all this very, very interesting. He hadn’t planned on another round with Asami at all—spirits, he hadn’t really planned on the first—but found himself not at all opposed to the idea. In fact, certain parts of his anatomy were now actively, forcefully advocating for that possibility. 

Asami rested her palm in the center of his chest. “There’s one condition though,” she said. Iroh rubbed two fingers quickly together just to make sure he wasn’t dreaming. Whatever the condition was, he was pretty sure he’d do it. 

Asami leaned closer, her face only inches from his, green eyes wide. Her soft smile curled up into a smirk. Slowly, she stood up on her toes, moving slightly to one side. Her lips brushed against his ear. “You have to catch me,” she whispered. Then she shoved him backwards and took off running. 

Iroh stumbled, caught completely by surprise. He heard Asami cackle as she pelted towards a set of stairs at the far side of the darkened room. The shirt rode up as she ran. 

Iroh quickly recovered himself, then took off after her at a dead sprint. 

He’d always been fast.


	3. Morning

Iroh lay on his back and listened as the city streets below came slowly to life. Soft sunlight filtered through the tall windows. Out of the corner of his eye he could see Asami bundled next to him, the fluffy comforter pulled up almost over her head. Apparently her tendency to burrow wasn’t restricted to sleeping bags. She faced away from him, her back resting lightly against his arm. Her thick, wavy hair lay in a dark tangle on the pillow; at some point it had come loose from her braid. Iroh thought with some satisfaction that he was mostly responsible for that. 

Asami’s room looked little like the rest of the house. Instead of the stuffy extravagance of the downstairs living area, it seemed like a tornado had blown through a little girl’s room, an architecture firm, and a biker garage in quick succession. The high walls were painted the palest purple, broken up by nearly floor-to-ceiling windows. A gentle breeze fluttered sheer white curtains through the open panes. Most of the elegant furniture inside was made from the same pale, yellow wood, showing it had likely been bought as a set. Yet Iroh could hardly see any of it; nearly every surface was covered in something. The tall dresser had what looked like a spare muffler balanced on top, one end resting precariously on an orange toolbox. A delicate writing desk, which was pushed up against the wall between the long windows, seemed to double as a drafting table. It was piled high with papers, drawings, and books with titles like _Advanced Automotive Electricity and Electronics_ and _Control Systems in Mechanical Engineering_. Asami had rigged up some sort of wide metal lamp above the desk as well, securing it to one of the window frames with a considerable quantity of steel wire. The vanity against the far wall was covered in a bizarre combination of makeup and perfume bottles, batteries, bits of wire, and the largest assortment of pens Iroh had ever seen. He found the whole chaotic scene mildly endearing; though Asami had proven adept at managing the business end of Future Industries, she was clearly still an inventor at heart. Iroh wondered idly how many of those pens actually worked, and then decided that he didn’t want to know. 

He glanced out the window. It was probably 06:30 or so, judging from the light. He had been awake for a while already, content to relax and simply take it all in, but he would have to go soon. Asami was still sleeping deeply though, which surprised him not in the slightest. It was tempting to just slip away and let her sleep, but Iroh thought of his conversation with the old man in the Spirit World and decided against it. No. He might have to return to his ship, but he was done leaving Asami without explanations. 

Instead, he rolled over, pulled down the comforter slightly, and gently nuzzled her neck. Her thick curls tickled his face. Iroh thought that he would never, not in a million years, get tired of that hair. Asami made a low noise in her throat. He nudged her hair aside to kiss the area between her neck and shoulder. “Mmmmm,” she muttered, her voice thick with sleep. “Iroh?”

“Hmm?”

“You’re here.”

“Of course I’m here. I told you I would be. I have to go soon, but not yet.” 

“Good,” she murmured drowsily. “I like you here.” Iroh liked himself here, too. He ran one hand over her side to her belly and shifted his knees to tuck them under hers. Then he wrapped his arm around to pull her close, settling his hand between her breasts. Asami snuggled backwards into him, then wrapped one warm hand in his. Iroh squeezed her slightly and kissed her under her ear, then rested his head against the back of her neck. He stayed like that for a while, just comfortable, feeling Asami breathe in and out. Her bare back felt smooth and soft against his chest. Iroh thought he certainly could get used to this. 

A Satomobile honked outside, shaking him out of a light doze. Iroh glanced out the windows again. He really did have to go. He thought briefly of his uniform jacket, which had lain crumpled by the front door all night. His slacks were probably balled up somewhere on the stairs. Iroh grimaced. He wouldn’t have time to iron out all those creases. He’d have to settle for a shower, a clean shirt, and mild disgrace today.

Asami was breathing deeply under his arm; she seemed to have fallen back asleep as well. Iroh smiled to himself. It had been a while since he’d had the pleasure of waking her up, and he’d thought of something that he wanted to try before he left. He focused and pushed a tiny bit of fire into the tips of his fingers. It wasn’t enough to light a flame, not even close, but it was a trick he’d taught himself to make them extra warm. He untangled his hand from Asami’s and slowly traced it down, down. She stirred, then leaned slightly into his touch. Good. That was promising. 

“Oh,” she mumbled, as he started to work his fingers. “That is so unfair.” 

“Too bad,” he whispered into her ear. “You asked me to stay. This is what you get.”

He slowly kissed around her neck, using his shoulder to start to roll her towards him. Asami took the hint, shifting to give him more access as she arched her back. Her eyes were still closed. He picked up the pace with his fingers and she started making little noises in the back of her throat in time to his rhythm. Iroh thought it was the sexiest thing he’d ever heard in his life, and he became aware of an imperative that was rapidly taking over in his mind and… other places. He did his best to shove it down.

Instead, he kissed Asami along the line of her jaw, then down her throat, then on the little scar on her collarbone. There was nothing to Iroh that didn’t seem very, very kissable. Her skin felt cool beneath his lips. It was amazing to think that he’d gone as long as he had without kissing every single inch of her. He pulled down the comforter further and his mouth found her breasts.

“Careful,” Asami breathed. She arched into him again and groaned softly. “You’ll never get rid of me this way.”

That sounded just fine to him. Iroh had no intention of letting her go. 

He lifted himself up a little on one arm and kissed her on the mouth, momentarily wishing he had a toothbrush. Asami’s lips parted beneath his and he kissed her more deeply. Suddenly he felt her twitch and shudder under his fingers. Her eyes flew open, and for a moment his whole field of vision was nothing but deep green flecked with gold. 

“Oh! Okay. Oh. Damn. Oh.” Asami had started to move and he used one knee to press her leg into the bed, holding her open to him. She squeezed her eyes shut again and bit her lip. Then Iroh felt a warm, soft hand below his waist. It wrapped around him and tugged gently, encouragingly. At Asami’s touch that earlier imperative rocketed to the very front of his brain, letting him know that if he didn’t do something about it, and _right now_ , he was probably going to die, because the most beautiful woman he had ever seen in his entire life was _right here_ , and naked, and wanting him to. 

Iroh kissed her again and pushed himself up, determined not to rush, letting her guide him. He felt Asami’s other hand tangle in his hair, pulling him deeper into a kiss as they connected. Then they began to move together, first slowly, then faster, each minute growing more insistent, the heat building. It felt amazing. 

“Okay. Wow. Oh. Okay. _Iroh!_ Oh!” Every sound of pleasure Asami made was like a flame inside him, driving him forward, edging him closer. He shifted slightly, moving his arm up under one long, strong leg. He felt Asami shudder again, her voice getting louder with every movement. Then she shook under him and actually shouted. Her hands grabbed at the back of his neck and she pulled him down, kissing him fiercely. She ran one hand through his hair and down his back, and he let go. Everything around him was warm and soft and bright and _right_ , and in that moment Iroh couldn’t imagine anywhere else he would ever, ever want to be. 

He sank into the bed beside Asami, threw one arm across her chest, and buried his face in her hair. She turned and kissed him on the temple. After a moment, Iroh propped himself up so he could see her face. She gave him a lazy, satisfied smile. Her eyes were so green.

“Sufficiently awake?” he asked. 

There was a loud bang behind him. Iroh jerked up, simultaneously shielding Asami with his body and bringing fire into one hand. He was just in time to see a brown shoe fall from the outside of one of the windows.

“Hey!” A man’s voice shouted. “Whoever the fuck Iroh is, keep it down! Some of us are trying to sleep!”

Iroh stared at the place the shoe had hit, mortified. He’d completely forgotten that they’d left the windows open. The weather had been warm, and lots of the surrounding townhouses probably also had open windows. And they hadn’t exactly been quiet. His face burned.

Farther away, someone wolf-whistled. The fire in his hand went out. 

He looked back at Asami. Though her face was red, her eyes were alight with glee. Iroh saw the corners of her mouth turn up. Then she snorted and burst out laughing. He felt his own mouth twitch. _Probably jealous,_ he thought, and then he was laughing, too. 

“I guess we’re no secret then,” giggled Asami. Tears streamed down her face. 

“So you’ll keep me?” Iroh chuckled. He was joking, of course. Mostly. Wasn’t he? 

Asami rubbed at her face to wipe away the tears. Then she looked at him, and though her mouth was still smiling, her eyes seemed serious. “I’m starting to think I’ll have to, or I’ll go crazy.”

“Then can I ask you a question?”

“Of course.” A worried look passed quickly across her face.

“Asami,” Iroh said. He nodded towards the vanity. “How many of those pens actually work?”


End file.
